


Yes, Yes, A Thousand Times Yes

by thegrrrl2002



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrrrl2002/pseuds/thegrrrl2002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard discovers that McKay is still a little upset over the events that occurred during 1.14 "Sanctuary".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Yes, A Thousand Times Yes

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my beta, Kylie Lee and to troyswann, for suggesting the marvelous title.

He found Rodney hunched over the new equipment, fiddling at the controls and looking very perplexed.

"Hi there, McKay," John tried.

Rodney's eyes didn't leave the screen. "Major." His words were short and clipped and not at all friendly.

All right then. So Rodney was still a little miffed. "Got that biometric thing all figured out?"

"No, I don't. I don't have a clue."

"Oh." John leaned against the console, watching intently until Rodney's eyes finally flicked up to meet his. "Rodney," John tried again, with his most winning expression.

"Can I do something for you, Major?"

"Rodney, I—I should have listened to you, okay?" John told him. " You were right, and I blew off your concerns."

Rodney looked remarkably unimpressed with both his heartfelt admission and the winning expression. "I know," he said with a scowl, as if John just told him the sky was blue. Turning his attention back to the machine, he flipped a switch, and then switched it back, as if John weren't standing there at all.

"Damn it, Rodney, I'm trying to apologize here," John burst out. "You're not making this any easier."

"Why should I?"

"Fine. Fine. All I'm trying to say is that you were right, I was distracted by Chaya's beauty, and you know, she was—" John waved his hands helplessly. "But it turned out all right in the end, she didn't mean us any harm, she was just—lonely." And sweet and nice, John wanted to add. He hadn't had much sweet and nice in his life lately.

"Oh, how lucky for us." Rodney straightened up, arms folded against his chest, chin lifted. "And you, apparently. "

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sure you know what I mean, Major. Or does someone have to explain the facts of life to you?"

John shook his head. He didn't the energy for this. Aside from the swirly lights thing, all they did was kiss, damn it. And it was such a nice bit of kissing. He had liked Chaya, had really liked her. And she had liked him. She had really liked him, even though she was an Ancient. Couldn't Rodney see how cool that was?

"Listen," he said, more annoyed than ever. "You know what I think? I think you were jealous."

An odd expression swept over Rodney's face, his eyes widening briefly. Then, like a door slamming shut, the look of smug superiority returned. "Oh please. Yes, that was it, I was jealous. Happy now? And may I please get back to work?"

Son of a bitch. "Be my guest. Sorry to have bothered you with my apology." John spun and left the control room, thankfully empty at this time of night.

Difficult, prickly, royal goddamn pain in the ass. This wasn't over, not by a long shot, he thought, stomping down the stairs.  
***

He sat on his bed, fuming. Rodney. Insufferably rude Rodney. Most obnoxious man he had ever met, and John was sick and tired of thinking about him.

Yet Rodney's expression had been so odd when John had accused Rodney of being jealous. Almost guilty, except that Rodney hadn't flirted with Chaya at all. Quite the contrary, actually. He seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. He had questioned her motives and her honesty with dogged determination. He didn't even seem to notice how pretty she was.

Maybe that was just Rodney's way, he decided—covering up an attraction with a bad attitude and ill-tempered remarks. How childish. Still, John knew that Rodney could be fun and almost, well, flirty. He'd seen it himself. But even in the beginning, he hadn't acted that way with Chaya, not once.

None of it made any sense.

The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He liked to think that he had Rodney figured out. He knew he had been pretty rough with Rodney when Rodney had confronted him in the hallway like that, but he was just trying to protect Chaya. She seemed so nice. And not difficult. Or confrontational. And she kissed nicely. What was wrong with that?

And why the hell did he feel guilty about it?

Damn it. He wasn't going to get any sleep that night, was he?

He left his room, and headed straight for Rodney's.

Rodney's doors were closed, but he could see light shining through the seam between the doors. "Rodney, are you in there?" he asked, knocking not-quite-so-politely.

A moment later the door opened, and there Rodney stood, looking, John suddenly noticed, rather tired. Rodney stepped back, two steps, enough to allow John to come in, and for the door to slide shut behind him. "What?" Rodney asked wearily.

His face, his eyes—John couldn't stop staring. Rodney looked—well, almost vulnerable, almost like John's presence pained him. Tired. Rodney must really be exhausted.

A thought struck him, an amazingly cool thought.

"Jealous," John exclaimed, pointing at Rodney. "You were jealous! But not of her. I mean, because of her. I mean—" John stopped, because he couldn't find the words. Rodney had been jealous, because Rodney wanted him.

Panic flashed in Rodney's eyes. He backed away, but John grabbed his arms, because it was okay, because John was good with that, really good. At a loss for any better way to express himself, he yanked Rodney close and kissed him triumphantly.

And found himself slammed back against the closed door in return. Rodney evidently knew a great deal about hockey, because it was a full body check, the air rushing out of John's lungs in a whoosh, and Rodney's big, solid body stayed smashed up against his. Rodney's mouth was harsh and firm and whoa, that was Rodney's tongue storming past his lips. Hands cupped his ass, and John made a sound that could have been mistaken for an embarrassing whimper as he clung to Rodney's shoulders, Rodney's broad shoulders—how come he had never noticed those shoulders before?

Ravaged. John was pretty sure he was being ravaged. Or maybe even plundered. It was hard to think with Rodney's mouth sucking all the air out of his body, but oh god, it was good, he loved it, even if it made him feel like the heroine in some kind of bodice ripper-type novel. He was okay with that, he really was, because Rodney's thigh slid between his legs, and oh god, that was Rodney's erection pressing into him. Rodney's cock was hard, and in one big rush his own was, too. He rubbed it against Rodney's strong hard thigh, and whoa, that was really, really good.

Rodney helped him out by grabbing his ass firmly and pulling his hips forward, so very helpful that John made noise again, right into Rodney's warm, wet mouth. Who knew Rodney could kiss like this? Although, really, this wasn't a kiss, this was pure porn, complete with the rubbing and moaning and the way John's leg ended up hooked around Rodney's hip. As if to make the point, one of Rodney's hands, which had slid up under his shirt and onto the small of his back, found its way back down but this time inside John's briefs—hurray for baggy pants that didn't quite fit. A hot, heavy hand caressed his ass, and then oh god, clever fingers slid down between his cheeks, another inch or so and it would be right there, right—right—oh—

God yes—right there.

John gasped, hooking an arm around Rodney's neck, rocking his hips, because the rubbing—the rubbing was amazing, electric jolts of pleasure right up through his body, Rodney's finger working its way inside his ass. Rodney made a low noise, a low, vibrating, wonderful noise, sucking on his tongue, owning John's mouth. John whimpered, pleading wordlessly, fingers curling into Rodney's shoulders, cock grinding into Rodney's hip. Fuck, it was good, it was too good—holy shit—

Blinding pleasure all in a rush, his body shaking and stars flashing, and son of a bitch, he was coming, hard and fast, right there in his goddamn pants.

"Rodney," John gasped, shaken. He slumped against Rodney with a weak little laugh, his head spinning. "Oh my god."

He'd come in his pants. He'd never done that before. Rodney did it to him. Rodney, obviously, was some sort of sex god. Who needed soft, pretty Ancients with Rodney around? And what was it going to be like when they actually got naked and had genuine sex?

"Rodney, oh man," he said, straightening up, giddily. They needed to get naked, right now.

But Rodney stepped back, holding him by the shoulders. He looked John up and down, eyes settling in on the stain at his crotch. "Huh," Rodney said, wiping his lips. "What do you know."

John frowned, leaning against the door, letting Rodney hold him up. His brain was still addled, but he knew he didn't like the sound of that. "Huh?"

"Major, I believe you were right," Rodney said. "I was jealous."

One hand left John's shoulder and touched the door control. As the doors opened, John lost his balance, falling backward. He staggered out into the hallway, astonished, nearly tumbling down onto the floor. He managed to right himself just in time to catch a glimpse of Rodney's smirk as the doors closed up again.

"Good night, Major," Rodney called through the closed door.

John blinked. What the hell?

"God damn it—Rodney—" He pounded on Rodney's door, furious, then remembered it was nighttime, rooms all around, filled with people. "Rodney, you bastard, open this god damn door," he whispered, loudly.

Silence.

Voices down the hallway, people approaching, and John realized he was in total disarray—shirt rucked up, stain on his pants, underwear twisted and crumpled in the wrong places. He was sticky and uncomfortable and his lips—god, they felt warm and swollen. He was sure he had whisker burn on his chin.

"Rodney McKay," he tried one last time, slapping the door with his hand. Still nothing. Son of a bitch. Putting his mouth at the seam between the doors, he snarled, "This is not over."

He turned, yanking down his shirt and clasping his hands over the wet spot on his crotch. Gathering up his dignity, he marched back to his room.

Smiling.

Oh yeah. It wasn't over, not by a long shot.  
***

The following morning, after an extensive search, John found Rodney in the stockroom, alone, examining the contents of a large blue storage bin. John stepped back, peering around the doorway, watching his prey with keen eyes. There was no escaping. He had Rodney cornered. He was going to give Rodney a piece of his mind. John planned to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that nobody, nobody tosses John Sheppard out of his room like that.

He entered the stockroom and closed the door behind him. "Rodney," he growled softly, advancing on his target.

Usually that growl was enough to make enlisted men quiver with fear, but Rodney merely glanced up. "Good morning, Major," he said blandly, as if he hadn't left John standing in a hallway the night before, stunned, with come dripping down his thigh.

John continued his slow, steady approach, scowling his fiercest scowl. Rodney straightened, squared his shoulders and watched, eyes narrowing as John grew closer. He didn't back away, didn't even flinch, even when John stood nose to nose with him. He merely looked thoughtful.

Oh, this was going to be good. It had been very wrong of Rodney to shove him out the door like that, discarding him as though he were some sort of—some sort of—plaything. There was no excuse for it, no excuse whatsoever, and John absolutely did not admire Rodney's chutzpah.

"Rodney," John began, watching as Rodney's mouth went from a straight, firm line into that funny little twist. "Rodney McKay, you are, without a doubt—" He paused, fascinated by the way Rodney's lips curved downward on the left side of his mouth. Rodney's mouth was interesting. It did interesting things. John cleared his throat. No matter what Rodney's mouth did, he was still a bastard. "Rodney, we need to—"

Rodney leaned closer. Eyelashes brushed against John's cheek, soft lips touched his mouth, settled on his lower lip, and Rodney was kissing him. Again.

"—talk," John breathed against Rodney's mouth.

"Uh huh." Lips again, firmer now, but still, it wasn't the take-no-prisoners kiss of the previous night. It was more of a caress, and John found himself sighing, opening his mouth and letting Rodney in, the sudden sweetness making his heart ache. Rodney's arm wound around his waist, his body leaning into John's, and John stepped back, bumping into another storage bin. It was just at the right height for him to sit on, and when he did Rodney slipped in between his legs. Rodney tasted of coffee and sugar, and he kissed delicately, his hand caressing John's thigh, gliding up, moving closer, and John spread his legs further—oh god, he wanted—

"Jesus, Rodney—" John jerked his head away, his hands flat on Rodney's chest, holding him back. Damn it, bodice-ripper territory again. Soon he'd be saying "no, no, a thousand times no."

"Now what?"

"I said 'talk'—we need to talk. I am very angry with you," John insisted. His hands spread out over Rodney's chest, his wide, hard chest, and oh, tight nipples, he could feel them right through the blue shirt.

Rodney closed his eyes. "If you are truly that mad at me, why are you fondling my nipples?"

"Do you like that?" John pressed his thumbs over the hard little points.

"Yes, I like that. I like it a great deal." He put a hand over one of John's, leaned over further, his eyes on John's lips. "I also liked kissing you. Can we go back to that now?"

John dropped his hands with a sharp prickle of annoyance. If Rodney thought a couple of sweet kisses would make things better—well, John Sheppard was not that easy. "No, I am mad," John insisted, trying to put some feeling into it. "Really mad." Even though his hands were drawn to Rodney's hips and then further around his body and onto Rodney's ass. Rodney's ass was wonderful—curved and hard, and he could feel the muscles work as Rodney shifted his weight.

"Oh. Okay." Rodney nuzzled his cheek. "Would it help if I said I was really sorry? That it was a stupid, stupid to do?"

"That helps," John murmured, distracted by the feel of Rodney's ass beneath his hands. "I think you—um—" Rodney's lips were on his neck, just right at that shivery spot, oh, yes, that was nice, and Rodney's body—he could feel the heat coming off it, because Rodney was hot, Rodney was very hot. He moved one hand from Rodney's ass to reach under his shirt, and yup, hot skin, smooth hot skin, and why weren't they naked? They could talk later. He pulled at Rodney's shirt, trying to remove it, but Rodney suddenly backed away, slipping out of his grasp.

"John—" he sputtered. "We're in the stockroom."

John looked around. Of course they were in the stockroom. "Yeah, and?"

"We are not having sex in the stockroom."

"Why not?" His cock was hard, he was horny, Rodney was hot, oh yeah, they were having sex, as soon as they got naked.

Rodney's eyes went wide. "Stockroom, John. Stockroom. Where we keep stock. Where other people go to get stock. As in, could walk in on us at any time."

John felt a tingle of excitement. "They could, couldn't they?"

"I don't believe you. You're just—you're just totally Kirk, aren't you? One kiss and you'll do it anywhere, with anyone."

John jumped down off the bin, scowling. "What the hell? You're the one who started it. You kissed me."

Rodney shook his head. "That was an 'I'm sorry' kiss, not a 'let's lose our minds and do it now' kiss."

Damn him. "Well, I'm sorry but I couldn't tell the difference." He'd changed his mind. Rodney was a bastard, a complete bastard. Chaya wouldn't have said that to him. Chaya was nice. Rodney was not nice. Well, maybe his ass was—his ass was very nice. "And so, what was last night's kiss, then?" John demanded.

"That was a 'I'm still mad at you' kiss." Arms folded against his chest.

"Rodney, I had no idea kissing you was so complicated." And stupid. Kissing Rodney was stupid. Nothing good ever came of it. First he'd been shoved out the door, and now he was being forced to talk about stupid things.

"Complicated?" Rodney gaped at him in disbelief. "I'm complicated? Maybe compared to you—it's all so very simple for you, isn't it. It's as if you only have one setting—on."

"Rodney," John warned.

Rodney rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Why did I even think I could—this is not good. I'm going to go back to work now, okay? Back to work." He spun on his heels and left the room, still shaking his head as he slapped the control panel to open the door.

John watched Rodney walk out on him, dumbfounded. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't at all what he had in mind when he came in. Just when had he lost control of the situation?

When Rodney kissed him, of course.

He stared at the doorway for a beat, then dashed out of the room. Rodney had made it as far as the transport, and the door was sliding open. As Rodney stepped in, John leaped in after him. Rodney stared in astonishment. Taking advantage of his opponent's confusion, John accessed the control pad, directing the transport to the living quarters.

"John—John what are you doing?" Rodney tried to redirect the transport, but John grabbed his hand, twisted it around Rodney's back, and pushed him, face first, into the wall. Gently.

"I said, we're going to talk. In a private place. My place, as a matter of fact." He held Rodney's arm carefully, not wanting to hurt him. He only wanted to avoid kissing Rodney, because if he did, his brain would cease to function, and then all kinds of crazy things would happen.

Rodney didn't struggle. Instead, in a weary voice, he asked, "As much as I appreciate this manly show of aggression, do you really think it's necessary?"

"I don't like you walking out on me. You should just be glad I didn't have a chance to get my gun."

"Oh, please."

Okay, so he wouldn't have used his gun on Rodney. Still, it would be nice if Rodney could act a least a little bit intimidated. He tightened his hold on Rodney's forearm, leaning into him.

"Major," Rodney said, sounding as though his teeth were clenched, "This is really starting to piss me off."

"Oh really?"

"Let go of me." A demand, in a low, threatening voice, and John's heart beat faster.

"I don't think so," John whispered in his ear. He rubbed his cheek against the back of Rodney's neck, breathing deep. Rodney's skin smelled good, and it tasted even better.

An exasperated noise. "I didn't say 'lick me,' I said—"

"I heard you the first time." John pressed his thighs up against the back of Rodney's legs, and wondered what it would be like to fuck Rodney, to push his cock in, nice and slow. He wondered if Rodney would complain and bitch at him the entire time, or if he would be soft and surrendering. Or both. Rodney could, he was sure, manage to do both at the same time.

He didn't realize he had released Rodney's arm until he was flung against the opposite wall, his shirt collar bunched up in Rodney's fists. "You're unbelievable, you know that?" Rodney snarled.

John opened his mouth, surprised and impressed by how fast Rodney could move. Before he could speak, the transport reached its destination and the door slid open, revealing a thankfully empty hallway. Rodney let go and stepped away. John grabbed his arm again as Rodney tried to exit the transport. "Talk," John pleaded. "Can we just go to my room and talk about this. Please?"

Rodney looked over his shoulder, eyeing John steadily. "That's exactly where I was heading, Major."

"Good. We'll go there together."

Rodney stared down at John's hand, still wrapped around his biceps, then gave him a look, that look, but John chose to ignore it. He wasn't taking any chances. He held on tight, hard muscle under his palm…nice. Very nice. He hadn't known Rodney had such nice biceps.

He tugged on Rodney's arm, and Rodney reluctantly walked with him. Reaching his room, he opened the door and dragged Rodney in. Once inside, Rodney tried to yank his arm free, but John yanked back.

"John, we're here. Do you think you can let go?"

"Not yet," John growled. Rodney still sounded as mad as hell. John decided he liked Rodney as mad as hell. He liked it a lot. He pulled Rodney across the small room and onto the bed, shoving him down. Climbing over him, he straddled Rodney's hips, holding Rodney's arms down at his side.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Rodney asked, disbelief in his voice.

He tried to twist his arms free, so John sat on him, pinning him down. John intended to get the upper hand, damn it, for once and for all. Rodney wasn't going to walk out on him, and Rodney wasn't going to shove him out the door or up against a wall. And Rodney certainly wasn't going to kiss him and make his brain melt, either.

Not just yet, anyway.

"Okay," John said evenly. "Now, we can talk." Rodney glared at him, a scorching hot, pissed-off kind of glare that went straight to John's dick. John leaned forward, putting his weight on Rodney's wrists, and tried not to look at Rodney's lips. "Actually, I'm going to talk. And you're going to listen."

"All right, Major, I'll listen. See? This is me listening. But if you think this macho commando crap is doing it for me, well…" Rodney paused and moved his hips under John's ass, then finished in a small voice, "…you're right. It is. Disturbingly so."

John raised his brows. "Really?" he asked. "Cool."

"Yeah, real cool." Rodney spoke with utter dismay.

John smiled, wriggling around until he could feel the hardness of Rodney's cock under his ass.

Rodney's expression grew more pained. "Oh god. I am so fucked."

"You? How about me? You do all kinds of weird things to me—I can't even think straight when you kiss me."

"Really?" Rodney brightened.

"Yes, really. You couldn't tell?"

"I don't know—like I can tell what your thought processes are on a good day? But I'm not usually thinking very clearly when you're kissing me back. Or pushing me around. Or," he sighed, "sitting on top of me."

"Oh." At least he wasn't the only one with the brain-melting problem. He shifted again, grinding against Rodney's cock.

Rodney's hips shifted in response, pushing back up. "I thought—I thought we were talking. Or you were talking. I don't hear any talking, John." Rodney's voice was breathy.

John frowned. Was there something they needed to talk about? "Oh, yeah. That. I'm not some kind of trollop, you know."

Rodney blinked at him. "Trollop? Trollop? What are you, the queen mother?"

"If I had known you were even slightly interested," John added, "I wouldn't have looked twice at Chaya."

"Right." Rodney moved beneath him again, restlessly.

"In case you haven't noticed, I spend a lot more time looking at you."

"Because," Rodney sighed, "you're a trollop." He rocked his hips, his eyes growing unfocused. "One kiss and you roll right over for anyone."

"I am not a trollop." John loosened his grip on Rodney's wrists, fingers caressing Rodney's palms. "Except when you kiss me. Don't you understand? It's all about you, you ass."

A crooked little smile now, with a touch of disbelief.

"But you kissed me and made me come in my pants, then locked me out in the hallway," John continued. "That wasn't very nice."

"Of course it wasn't nice," Rodney said, eyes closing briefly. He clasped John's hands in his, fingers intertwined. "After the door shut I jerked off, you know. You were incredible, the way you felt, those noises you made."

John pictured it—Rodney with his hand down his pants—and grinned. "So why did you shut me out?"

"Because I'm an idiot. A huge idiot. You know that old saying about cutting off your nose to spite your face?" Rodney pulled John's hands up over his head, stretching John out over his body. "My face was oh so very spited. "

Face to face now, and John unfolded his legs to lay over Rodney, oh, warm body again, warm and friendly now. He settled between Rodney's legs, his cock pressing into Rodney's hip. "Poor face." He kissed Rodney's cheek, then moved down to his jaw and neck.

"Are we done talking now?" Rodney pleaded.

"Yes." John said, licking Rodney's ear. "Now that I've given you a piece of my mind."

"I consider myself very, um, thoroughly chastised." Rodney breathed in sharply. "John, can we get naked now?"

"No." John nipped his neck.

"What? No?" Rodney's voice rose. "Aren't we having sex? This feels like sex." He tried to untangle his fingers, but John held tight.

"I don't know," John mused, brushing his lips across Rodney's throat. "Maybe I don't want to have sex with you now. Maybe I'm still feeling pretty hurt by what you did."

Rodney went still. "You're joking, right? Oh, please tell me you're joking."

John chuckled. He released Rodney's hands, then rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Rodney sat halfway up, desperate expression on his face. "John?"

"Joking," John announced, pulling his shirt off over his head. He emerged to find Rodney glaring at him.

"Well, come on," John said, waving a hand at Rodney's clothes.

"I should have my head examined," Rodney groused, pulling at the zipper of his shirt. John stripped down with military precision, shirt, shoes, and pants. Mission completed, he turned to find that Rodney was sitting up, bare-chested but still wearing his pants. His fingers were tugging at his bootlaces but his eyes were fixed on John.

"Give me those," John said gruffly, kneeling at Rodney's feet.

"Oh. Okay." As John pulled at the knots, Rodney eye's traveled down to his hips. "Thank you," Rodney said, voice earnest.

Knots untied, boots and socks removed, and then John went to work on Rodney's trousers, getting them unbuttoned in time for Rodney to drag him up from the floor and haul him back onto the bed. Yanking, tugging, and after a brief struggle Rodney's, pants were gone. Rodney was naked. John only had a glimpse of a hairy chest, tiny nipples, pale belly, and thick, red cock before Rodney's mouth was on his.

Nice. Oh yeah, kissing Rodney was nice. Soft lips, flirty tongue and then John was on his back, a big warm body pushing him down into the mattress, hard cock bumping up against his. He wrapped his arms around Rodney, and the kiss became less soft and flirty and more hard and demanding. Rodney's cock shoved against his cock, friction like fire in his veins and John moaned.

"Jesus, John," Rodney gasped. Rodney moved away from him no, no that wasn't right, Rodney shouldn't stop kissing him, ever. John grabbed at Rodney's arms as Rodney slid down his body, panicking, but then Rodney's hot, hot mouth was on his chest, nipping and licking and kissing, oh fuck, on his belly now, a tongue in navel and then all warmth and heat on his cock, engulfing him.

Good, was all John could think. Good, good, hot and good, bone-meltingly good. Rodney knew just what to do with that mouth of his, hell yes. If Rodney's kisses were brain-melting, this was even better, this made his brain shut down completely, made him moan out loud in a breathless plea for more, to moan for harder—faster—whatever—just-don't-ever-stop. He moaned until the fireworks exploded in his brain all over again and he was coming with a shout of pleasure, shaking his way through it, back arched, hands clenched, then collapsing back down onto the bed with a faint whimper.

He shivered as Rodney kissed the inside of his thigh, and he opened his eyes to see Rodney kneeling between his legs, smiling and stroking his body—smiling smugly, as full of himself as ever. And with a big hard cock poking out of a willy-nilly bush of brown hair, a cock so pretty that John couldn't take his eyes off it, a cock that looked as smug and arrogant as the rest of him. So much so that John lunged for Rodney with a strange, postcoital energy, pushing a surprised Rodney backward and onto his ass.

"Whoa, John, what are you—oh, ooooh."

It was smooth like satin, hard and hot to the touch as his lips slid down the length of it. He could feel the blood rushing through the veins, could feel the tremble in Rodney's hips as he sucked hard, cupping Rodney's balls. John stroked each gently as he worked the shaft in his mouth, pushing his tongue along the bottom, rubbing the head against the roof of his mouth. So many delirious noises coming from Rodney, he didn't know Rodney could make noises like that, along with happy little gasps every time John's tongue swept over the tip. John thought that maybe he could suck on Rodney's cock for hours, just for the taste of it, just to be able to feel Rodney's hips moving like that.

But all too soon Rodney's body shuddered, fingers scrabbling at John's shoulders, and with a jerk of his cock Rodney came, flooding John's mouth with warm come, sharp and a little nasty tasting and yet so damn good. John sucked and licked until, with a soft cry, Rodney pulled his cock away. "Okay," he gasped. "Oh, god."

John smiled, nuzzling at the crease where thigh met hip, pubic hair tickling his cheek, breathing Rodney in.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Rodney asked weakly.

John looked up to see Rodney propped up on one elbow, peering down at him. "No," he answered.

"I see. Still mad, huh?"

John crawled up his body. "Furious." He kissed one small, perfect nipple.

"Oh well. I tried."

Dazed blue eyes, brows drawn together, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a funny little grin. Pretty, John thought. He kissed Rodney lips, first the upper, and then the lower, with light, teasing kisses. Rodney groaned, hands on John's shoulders, pushing. John let himself be rolled over.

Rodney gazed down at him. "Trollop," he murmured, his mouth meeting John's for a slow, sumptuous kiss.

Your trollop, John wanted to tell him, but he couldn't, because Rodney was kissing him, that brain-melting kiss, and Rodney was moving to lie on top of him, chest to chest, hip to hip, hands in John's hair as he commanded John's mouth. All John could do was hold on and kiss him back. But then Rodney chuckled deep in his throat and John realized he didn't have to say it, because Rodney, of course, was a genius.

He had already figured it out.


End file.
